


Stir This Waste Land

by tclp



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hux has Mommy issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tclp/pseuds/tclp
Summary: Kylo wants to curl around it like it's some precious thing being offered.  Because it is.  Hux would mock his sentimental mysticism if he tried to explain: objects are vessels for energy, intentions.  Kylo had sensed it instinctively as a child, even before Snoke.  So it must be true.Or: Hux micromanages the preparations for Sloane's visit and Kylo offers to help him bake muffins.





	Stir This Waste Land

**Author's Note:**

> A friend encouraged me to write outside my comfort zone and this is the result. I aimed for fluff and humor but didn't quite make it there.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

 

Hux raises a finger: _hold off_.  He hums into his cell phone, listening to Mitaka and ignoring Kylo.

" _Hux_."

"Thank you, Dopheld."  Hux scowls at the recipe after hanging up.  "A number of your alterations were mistakes," he says, by way of acknowledging Kylo.  "The lowered temperature, to start—"

"The heat's not the problem.  You're supposed to use low heat to tenderize."

Hux taps a cooled muffin on the island's countertop.  The smug fucker doesn't even reply, just raises an eyebrow at the sound of rock-hard pastry hitting granite.

"So?  I didn't hear you object when we went off the instructions!"  Kylo hears his voice rising, but it's distant compared to the burn of shame and anger that creeps up his neck. 

"I didn't object because you claimed to know how to make them… tender."

"MOIST!  I said they'd be _moist_ , Hux!" 

Hux flinches.  Kylo doesn't understand why the word disturbs him so much, but he finds a petty satisfaction in his discomfort.

"Why didn't you call Mitaka in the first place?  He's the expert.  Apparently."

"I didn't ask for you help either, Ren."

"Exactly!"

And _honestly_ , Hux's confused stare is more than he can handle.  Kylo slams the door on his way out.

 

*

 

The lights are off in the kitchen when Kylo slinks back to their apartment, out of breath and chest burning from walking against late winter wind.  He'd left without his jacket, accidentally-on-purpose.

He can smell the chemicals of cleaning products; the room's been scrubbed clean.  No sign of the muffins.  Despondent, Kylo refuses to check under the sink to confirm that Hux trashed them.

It's been three weeks since Sloane announced her visit.  Three weeks of Hux's micromanagement ratcheting up to unbearable levels.  He's been on edge and snappish, cold in a way that reminds Kylo of those first months after they'd met.  They'd hated each other.

Yesterday, Kylo had finally convinced Hux to let him help with something, anything.  Baking was simple enough, right?

"Ren?"  Hux calls from the living room.

Hux is sat on the couch.  The narrow glow of a lamp is barely enough to see by, but Kylo can tell the tip of Hux's hair is wet, his skin flushed.  He's wearing Kylo's oldest sweater: the one with a slanted cut across the shoulder that was clumsily stitched back together.

Hux worries at the frayed cuff, probably trying not to dig his nails in his palm.

It's the sight of Hux's twitching fingers that takes away the last of his anger.  Kylo sinks to the couch and reaches for Hux's hand, slow and deliberate so that he can pull away if he wants.  Hux leans in, his free hand automatically finds Kylo's ear under his hair to hold him in place.

The scent of soap clings to Hux's skin.

"I'm sorry," Kylo says, too loud, and flinches.  He braces himself to feel the quiet moment shatter around them.  

"No, it's…  I—" Hux makes a noise of frustration.  His jaw twitches.  "Wait here."

Hux pads into the kitchen on sock feet.  He looks small, somehow; a trick of the light as he opens and closes the fridge, or maybe it's the sweater.  It's loose around Hux's shoulders where it's been stretched and worn thin over the years.

"Here."  Hux holds out a roll.  He'd wrapped what was left of the muffin batter in cellophane.

There's a bond between Hux and Sloane that Kylo can't access — mostly because Hux is in turn dismissive and opaque about his past — but he understands she's almost family to Hux.  

As he takes the roll, Kylo wants to curl around it like it's some precious thing being offered. Because it is. Hux would mock his sentimental mysticism if he tried to explain: objects are vessels for energy, intentions. Kylo had sensed it instinctively as a child, even before Snoke. So it must be true.

"You're giving me Sloane's offering?"

"Offering?  Really?" Hux scoffs.  "I'm not the one who worships his mentor."  But, of course, he does.  Just a little bit.  "Besides, you're always eating those salmonella riddled rolls of cookie dough."  

Kylo smiles.  "Uh, huh."

Hux settles on the couch and glares as if it'll hide his flush.

"It was obvious you were trying to bluster your way through the recipe.  You didn't even know to flour the molds."

"Thought you'd never baked before?"

"I— No, never."  Something flits across Hux's face, but Kylo doesn't catch it in the dim light.  "But I’ve seen..."  He trails off, stares unseeing at the darkened tv screen.

Kylo gets that feeling again.  It's been growing heavier for the past few weeks: like Hux is speaking from another room and Kylo can't find the doorway to reach him.

"Your cooking is excellent," Hux says, focus sharp once more.

"Uh.  Thanks?"

"It wasn't absurd for me to believe your boasts."

Kylo doesn't want to go over it again — he already berated himself dozens of time during his walk — it'd be easier to get angry at Hux for trying to rehash it all.  By now he can only summon a low heat of annoyance at himself.

After years of military rations, Hux thinks he's hot shit in the kitchen, but Kylo knows better.  What had he expected?  Telling Hux he could not only bake, but modify a recipe?  He hadn't allowed himself to think about it, though.  He'd assumed he'd figure it out.  Wing it.

 _Bluster_.  He thinks of Han and feels freshly ashamed.  Then tries to find something, anything, to say before thoughts of his father can take root.

He squirms down the cushions, exhausted by his own mental process.  "Sure I can cook.  But baking is totally different.  It's like a specialty."

"…Oh."

"You thought they were the same thing?  Shit.  No wonder you fell for it."

"I did not!"  Hux snaps.  Then, defensive, "Why offer to help?"

He hums vaguely.  

"No matter.  There was no need for you to take on my responsibilities.  This is mine to handle.  And, I assure you, I can—"  Hux clamps his mouth shut.  There's a twitch in his jaw as he stares straight ahead like he expects the executioner's blade to fall any second.

"No," he croaks.  "No.  I didn't help 'cause I thought you couldn't do it yourself.  Fuck, Hux!  I'm here.  I'm _with_ you.  Don't you get it?"

He’s pinned by Hux’s stare.  He use to hate being seen this way, but he lets Hux look his fill, run mental tallies until he comes to his own conclusions.

Kylo tracks Hux's blink, the slow dip of eyelashes.

"Yes.  I suppose that's apparent."

Their eyes are not quite meeting, more like staring at a chin, a neck.

"You smell good."

The look Hux gives him says, _Have you lost your mind?_ Kylo suppresses giddy laughter when his hands twitch nervously and he realizes he's still cradling the dough to his chest.  He tries to look casual about it.

"You were never subtle, Ren"

"Good. Since you can't take a hint."

Hux is unimpressed when Kylo repeatedly nudges their knees together.  He huffs under his breath, _Absurd_ , but moves down the couch. Kylo doesn't hide his smirk as he nuzzles his face to Hux's throat.

When Kylo wakes a few hours later, his arms are empty.  

He keeps his eyes closed.  He hears the refrigerator's door shut, feels the couch dip.  A moment later a knee nudges him.  He wraps himself around Hux.

 


End file.
